Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Paradise Bend plain sight. So was the rock from which he had been fired upon. It was a long mile dis- tant, and it lay near the crest of a low hog’ S- back close to the creek. “He’s got his hoss down behind the swell,”’ muttered Loudon. “Wish this hill was higher.” Loudon pondered the advisability of climbing a tree. He wished very much to obtain a view of the depression behind the hog’s-back. He finally decided to remain where he was. It was just possible that the hostile stranger might be provided with field-glasses. In which case tree-climbing would invite more bullets, and the shooting of the enemy was too nearly accurate for comfort. Loudon settled himself comfortably in his bunch of grass and watched Taeeade: Fifteen or twenty minutes later what was apparently a part of the rock detached itself and disappeared behind the crest of the hog’s-back. Soon the tiny figure of a mounted man came into view on the flat beyond. Horse and rider moved rapidly across the level ground and vanished behind a knoll. When the rider reappeared he was not more than nine hundred yards distant, and galloping hard on a course paralleling the base of the “Good eye,” chuckled Loudon. ‘‘Goin’ to surround me. I’d sure admire to hear what he says when he finds out I ain’t be- hind that swell.” The stranger splashed across the creek and raced toward some high ground in the rear of Loudon’s old position. Now that the enemy had headed west- ward there was nothing to be peace by further delay. Loudon had plenty of courage, but one requires more than bravery and a six- shooter with which to pursue and success- fully combat a gentleman armed with a Winchester. - Hastily retreating to his horse Loudon scrambled into the saddle, galloped across the hilltop and rode down the eastern slope at a speed exceedingly perilous to his horse’s legs.. But the yellow horse somehow con- trived to keep his footing, and reached the bottom with no damage other than skinned hocks. Once on level ground Loudon headed southward, and Lemons, that yellow bundle of nerves and steel wire, stretched out his 10 145 neck and galloped with all the heart that was in him. Loudon’s destination was a iinecanes twelve miles down the creek. This camp was the temporary abode of two Bar-S punchers, who were riding the country south of Fishtail Coulee. Loudon knew that ‘ both men had taken their Winchesters with them when they left the ranch, and he hoped to find one of the rifles in the dugout. With a rifle under his leg Loudon felt that the odds would be even, in spite of the fact that the enemy had an uncanny mastery of the long firearm. Loudon’s favorite weapon was the six-shooter, and he was at his best with it. A rifle in his hands was not the arm of precision it became when Johnny Ramsay squinted along the sights. For Johnny was an expert: “Keep a-travelin’, little hoss, keep a- travelin’,”’ encouraged Loudon. ‘Split the. breeze. That’s the boy!” Loudon had more than one reason for being anxious to join issue with the man who had attacked him. At nine hundred yards one can not recognize faces or figures, but one can distinguish the color of a horse, and Loudon’s antagonist rode a sorrel. Chuck Morgan had said that Blakely’s horse was a sorrel. euii= LOUDON sighted the dugout that =a was Pack-saddle line-camp ina trifle less than an hour. He saw with elation that two hobbled ponies were graz- ing near-by. A fresh mount.would quicken the return trip. Loudon’s elation collapsed likeva pricked bubble when he entered the dugout and found neither of the rifles. He swore a little,,and smoked a sullen cigarette. Then he unsaddled the weary Lemons and saddled the more vicious of the two hobbled ponies. Subjugating this animal, a most excellent pitcher, worked off a deal of Loudon’s ill-temper. Even so, it was in no cheerful frame of mind that he rode away to inspect the two mud-holes be- tween Fishtail Coulee and Box Hill. To be beaten is not a pleasant state of affairs. Not only had he been beaten, but he had been caught by the old Indian fight- — er’s trick of the empty hat. That was what galled Loudon. To be lured into betraying his position by such an ancient snare! And he had prided himself on being an adroit fighting man! The fact that he had come within a finger’s-breadth of paying with his (eCoyialiicel exe yo) cS (E(0) i ne ey ake “Gt tes ALA erat das UN ty ¥ Pee, ; Lie SA eb! ha tase 8 iY he ST . ¥ Was hy eB athe yibling tar Ty et lcs ae % a > aN ' : ee A bik a ry ave Pair